


Prison Break Convention

by Itrustyoutokillme



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Gen, real person fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/Itrustyoutokillme
Summary: So, I wrote this a long time ago as part of a fic challenge.  It includes most of the friends I had in the fandom back then referenced by their LJ names.  They are domfangirl, smirkey_turkey, prettyin_prada, adventurepants, rosie_spleen (more to be remembered!)Its a fun read if you know these people :D





	Prison Break Convention

Fan conventions. So much fun, and yet so much work. That’s what he thinks to himself as he sits behind the foot wide table that has been draped with a dark blue cloth. That is all he has between him and the hoard of fans, mostly girls and women that have turned up to the first ever Prison Break Fan Convention (organised by LiveJournal).

Two security guards open the huge double glazed doors and as they stampede towards him, his co-stars Sarah Wayne Callies and Dominic Purcell, he wonders how the doors even held them back. They are like nothing he has ever experienced and they are so close he can hear every single one of them mutter ‘oh my god’ and giggle uncontrollably.

He is suddenly thankful of the auditoriums seating and very thankful that every single fan, with their tickets held tightly to their hearts like a prized possession they could never let go of, has one allocated to them. For a second, his smile fades while he contemplates the prospect of disorder. For a second, he scans the room for the nearest exits.

Covering the mic between them, he leans over to his co-star and offers her a smile. “I’m sorry,” he says with a grin, leaning back and sharing a chuckle with Dominic who sits to his other side. She looks at him with a tiled smile and a frown.

“Excuse me?” She says with a sarcastic but confused air to her voice. She leans forward, looking past him and locking eyes with Dominic who points to the crowd. Her eyes travel forward, following the eloquent aim of his finger and set themselves on the crowd, scanning each and every fan with earnest. They are so many red heads, natural and straight from the bottle. There are so many brunettes, their hair trimmed identical to hers and lightly curled over their smiling faces while they chat. For a second, she is flattered but then realises there are no male fans at all.

She shakes her head and bats him playfully on the arm. One of the fans spots her gesture from the back of the room, standing up for a closer look at actual physical contact between two of the hottest stars on prim time television, and a Mexican wave of fans follow. The crowd falls silent and all eyes fall on them. Every set of wide, expectant eyes, with mouths agape and hushed whisperings travelling the room.

And then, Dominic clears his throat to begin the Q&A and she swears a fan girl sitting directly in front of him faints. The girl is ignored by her peers as she tumbles to the ground, her LiveJournal identifying name tag around her neck laying still and name up on her chest. She has read about this. When the prospect of your biggest heartthrob actually speaking in close proximately causes the brain to disengage and shut down. She makes a mental note to send her regards (and the transcripts of this convention) to domfangirl later.

On baited breath they wait, poised in their seats and the only sound coming in the form of a camera whirr and the click of a flash. They all looks so normal, sent crazy by he prospect of the three actors before them. One makes a sound as Dominic speaks, introducing them with their formal names and whom they play on the show. It is a strange sound, like a cross between a high-pitched squeal of a pig and a breathy moan of joy. She’s heard it before and a wide toothy grin and two clenched fists always accompany it. They call it squee.

“So, who’s first?” Dom says clapping his hands together and rubbing them gently. He watches amazed as very single hand in the audience raises with a loud expulsion of air from every single fan girl. He raises his eyebrows surprised but scans the crowd for the girl, that one lucky girl, who will be the envy of all the others because she gets to go first. He motions a flat palm towards one in the middle of the centre row, deciding he can’t go wrong with picking the girl in the middle of the room.

She stands and all three of them suddenly think ‘fan girl’ is too diverse a term for their fan base. Looking around, there are nearly no actual girls at all. These are all women, perfectly capable of many things, including rushing a flimsy, foot wide table and tackling their TV crush to the ground. Went and Dom gulp while Sarah smiles at the fan.

“This is for Wentworth,” she says, looking directly at him with a smirk. Her accent is heavily Australian, her hair is curly and she looks so physically fit they all wonder if she is in the fitness profession. “Can you bowl a wrong-un?” she starts to laugh and Dom joins her. Went looks to his co-star with a frown and she sits down in the audience, content that his silence is enough for her. Dom looks to the audience and a gaggle of giggling fans surround her, tapping her lightly on the shoulder and telling her that their spleens hurt.

Another stands in the far corner of the room, her LJ name swinging on its red cord around her neck is flipped over her shoulder and her t-shirt matter of factly displays to the world that they should trust her, she is a lawyer. Sarah notices a wedding band on her finger and gives her a gentle smile when she addresses her.

“What’s it like to go to work and kiss Went Miller?” she says with a grin so wide they all think she may faint at any minute due to the constriction of blood flow to her brain. She looks at her co-star and smiles coyly, a smile that he eagerly returns and causes an eruption of ‘squee’ into to the echoic room. Fans stare at her, intently awaiting her answer that she decides will be in the form of a private joke between the cast and crew.

“Tediously dull,” she drones with fake sarcasm and another fan girl pops up between the lighthearted laughter.

“Went! Went!” she calls, grabbing his attention at the sound of his name. It’s strange. He never gets used to everyone he doesn’t know, knowing him but regardless he turns to another Australian accent with a small smile. “Do you like Yakult?” smirky_turkey blurts and he is stumped for a second, wondering what a smirking turkey actually looks like. He wonders if this is a mocking session, or if he is being Punk’d by the entire country of Australia. He glares at his co-star, not really putting it past Dom to organise such a thing.

Before he has time to answer, his name sounds from across the room and he is a little suspicious the entire fan base seems to be Australian. “Did you know there is a place in New South Wales that makes underwear with your name in it?” His eyes fall on a young, married woman who is wearing glasses and an almost painful grin. This one he can answer.

“Yes, actually. My sister has told me about Wentworthville,” he offers her a narrow lidded smirk of knowing and she blushes a little and sits down. He faintly hears someone call her ‘Bec’ and giggling ensues. “However,” he adds and every single pair of eyes snaps up at his words. “It is not a town full of clones of myself.” Half of the room laughs, and half the room falls silent with sadness. The sad half will be on their phones as soon as this is over to cancel their one-way tickets to Wentworthville, NSW.

Dom’s attention is caught yet again by a familiar accent. He turns and lays his eyes on a pretty lady (or so says her LJ name) who is of short stature but compensating with high heels. She flags at him with a wave of her hand and asks, “Do you miss Australia?” He smiles at her and lightly rubs a hand over the stubble littering his magnificently pronounced jaw line. With the faintest hint of an accent, he replies.

“Yeah. Do you miss New Zealand?” and he gives her a wink and it melts her heart right in her chest. She blushes and sits down, trying to god to stop the fluttering motion in her chest because Dominic Purcell, who can kiss so well she wonders what else he can achieve just by the simple swish of his tongue has spoke to her directly. And her world suddenly ends with a tasteful fade to black.

Finally, she hears her name and perks up a little bit, somewhat disheartened by all the questions and sometimes explicit comments her male co-stars are getting from the audience. Her eyes fall on two of the giggliest, squee filled fan girls she has ever seen, both grinning with excitement as one whispers into the other’s ear. Their LJ name tags make her smile before they can even ask their question, which she suspects from their incessant laughter will be related to her unborn child.

“So, that’s Went’s right?” one of them giggles and she breaks into her own flittering laughter as she looks down the girls body and notices she is in fact, not wearing Prada, but pretty nonetheless. Went’s manly chuckle resonates beside her as she shakes her head and blushes lightly.

“You obviously have a beautiful imagination. The two of you,” she motions to the second fan girl, huddled up against her friend like a Siamese twin. Without feeling too perverted, she flashes a glance over the girl’s waists, wondering if her pants are as adventurous as her nametag suggests, or if she is in fact just totally insane.

“It’s not mine. Or Michael’s,” he adds, putting every fan girl in the room into a form of depression immediately. And then, the whole room falls silent again as he reaches out and takes her hand in his to gently reassure her that the questions can sometimes be awkward at these things.

“Hand porn!” someone screeches from the crowd and the three co-stars stare at the one known as the spleen killer once more. She is pointing directly at them and repeats her flailing words like a child. “Hand porn!” The crowd erupts in a cheer, each and every fan girl is standing and applauding their simple gesture of friendship like it was an earth shattering sex scene in a blue movie.

He gives her a smile and slowly traces his hand over hers. “Say it!” the fan girls scream and security begins to move into position, riot pending. She gives him a roll of her eyes and silently scolds him for taunting the mob who would like nothing more then to rip every shred of clothes off his body at the words she gets to hear so often.

His mouth moves to open and they hold their breath, inching forward for a better viewing position. At the end of every extended fan girl hand is a fan girl cell phone, set to record the momentous occasion that will be posted all over the internet by tea time. He takes a breath and they freeze in time.

“Sara…” he breathes. “It won’t always be like this.”

Another fan girl faints and Dominic spies one clambering her way forward towards Went. Her nametag, flowing gently in the wind, is of another language and from what he can remember of school, it means ‘little bug’.

“Well, now you’ve done it Went,” he growls, pushing his chair back and moving to his pregnant co-star protectively. The two men shield her behind them as they back away from the advancing crowd with nervous glances. As if all the Australian influence in the room has overtaken him, Dom sighs at his co-star once more. “Well, bloody, done mate.”


End file.
